Lorik is Having a Bad Day
by Loremaster Loryn
Summary: The treeline protected them from the worst but the rain from two days ago was still seeping into the ground, the earth dislodged and uncooperative. And so he found himself with a stuck wagon and a frightened beast. Oh, and one of the barrels of rice had spilled over. Lorik was having a really bad day.


A/N- For Fred, whose only story of mine that he reads will be this Christmas request ;)

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><p>Lorik was having a bad day.<p>

It had started out innocently enough, his visit to the secluded, peaceful village of Dawn's Blossom having ended and his journey home beginning with the sun's rise. His cart was near empty, his load all successfully traded and bartered away over the last three days to families he now knew well enough to call friends. His arrival had been welcomed with smiles and greetings, cheers and laughter as the draenei was enveloped in the comfortable atmosphere only Pandarens could provide.

His grains had been snatched up the first day, and his vegetables all distributed by the second. The third he gave to rest while he worked numbers on parchment and decided where to invest his new profits. Two barrels of rice, four bolts of silken textiles that had caught his eye, a repaired leather saddle and a new straw hat later and he was ready to head out homeward once more. The journey itself would take most of the day (if he stopped for lunch) his wagon and mushan were not the speediest of transport. Still, Lorik thought eying the fair day; it was a pleasant way to be homebound.

He had left much as the way he had arrived; with friendly fuss and fond tidings and vowed to be home before nightfall.

The Jade Forest had always behoved unto Lorik a series of secrets waiting to be told, a lifetime of poems and songs to be written and an endless supply of beauty whenever he passed beneath the living canopy. His first venture here, oh so many years ago now, had taken his breath away and on certain days, in certain places, that was still the case. Now he rode through it more familiarly than he had felt anywhere else, appreciating the humidity, revelling in the rhythmic clatter of his wagon on the aged cobblestone and bathing in the sunlight sifting through the umbrella of local flora.

He passed a few others, farmers and traders as they were, also beginning their long day, greeting them with practised custom, asking and advising about roads travelled and up ahead. All went well for the first hour or so of his journey as that sweet ball of contentment nestled warmly in his chest as everything was just so, or would be as soon as home was in his sights. But it was not to remain so.

It was the rain, that was the first sign of things to come. Just as he had been rounding the last leg of the newly finished Serpent statue honouring Yu'lon, the torrent had swept upon him like waves crashing a cliff. Being autumn now, where things were getting tired and ready to die, so had the weather fallen into the same natural depression and because of this such flash showers were not uncommon.

But he had been staggered into a ditch because of it.

Misty, his mushan, had been startled by two cracks of thunder and careened off-road where Lorik had used all of his strength to rein her in and calm her down. The treeline protected them from the worst but the rain from two days ago was still seeping into the ground, the earth dislodged and uncooperative. And so he found himself with a stuck wagon and a frightened beast.

Oh, and one of the barrels of rice had spilled over.

Lorik was having a _really_ bad day.

Kindly, a band of passersby stopped and aided him out of the ditch a half hour later, making sure his wagon was safe and together. Lorik thanked them graciously, for he would have been there all day without the four of them pushing and pulling, and apologised for getting them covered in mud. They laughed and claimed it was nothing a little more water couldn't wash out and not to fret. He had long learned not to discomfort the Pandaren people by offering money or valuables as a courtesy for _their_ courtesy, for they were a kind people, built on the backs of tradition and principles, and instead let them know where he stayed and asked them to drop by sometime where they would be welcomed for a meal. A short while later they parted ways- and friends- and Lorik resumed his journey, now one barrel of rice down and wearing a second outer layer of dirt and dried muck. With several hours to go until he reached home, he feared that the sun may reappear and bake him into it. With a grimace did he decide to wash, preferring to be soaked and dry out on his journey than turn to clay, and pulled Misty over to the slicky stream when they reached it. His outer layers had taken the brunt of the mud, so he divested what was appropriate and washed them in the water, willing the brown ripples to fade as they travelled downstream, indicating no more dirt to clean. Twisting and wringing the clothes, he adorned them again, chagrined to travel in such a state, but decided it would dry out with his body head and sunlight.

The sun didn't reappear.

Another hour of now-sullen travelling, Lorik was close to chattering, his damp clothes seeping through other layers and the humidity giving way to a breeze. Misty trundled along, passing no other travellers and Lorik huddled close, willing his practical farmer's clothes to dry quicker.

It was then Lorik realised that apart from a knot of black hair, his head was bare. His mind's eye produced an image of his hat resting by his side at the stream, and suppressing another curse, Lorik mourned the loss of his new purchase.

Lorik was having an unfortunate day.

He convinced himself that his only solace was that he was nearly halfway home and he could still be there before sunset like he planned. He just had to skip stopping for lunch. This was an idea he wrestled with as he had already passed on breakfast that morning, his stomach a little tender after drinking one cup too many of Stormstout last night with the villagers, and perhaps he had been a little dry-mouthed when waking this morning. Fresh air and a worked-up appetite was what he needed, he had told himself before setting off, and that had been his argument for not breaking his fast.

He was sorely beginning to regret that.

He eyed the local wasps as they strayed towards him, curious to find out who was going by, but not too curious to come up close. They were friendly enough creatures, as long as you left well enough alone. A sting from one he had attained about two years back had swollen to a heft-sized lump on his arm and he had been bedridden for two days. _Not_ an experience he'd wish to repeat. Reminiscent and wary of this, he treaded with slight caution through the bamboo forest, knowing by heart that the exit into the Valley would soon be upon them.

In fact, he was so busy keeping an eye on the innocent, hovering creatures that he wasn't paying attention to the ground.

Because _of course_ that's when a python would attack him.

Lorik was a shaman. He had fought in wars in Northrend, battled against the Twilight Cult, Ragnaros and the dreaded Neltharion. He had been there at the reclamation of Mogu'shan Palace. He had despaired at the sacking of Dalaran and he had taken part in the Seige of Orgrimmar, witnessing the downfall of Hellscream and his lot. He was therefore, a very seasoned warrior and he was not going to be taken down by a damned _snake_. His reflexes had been honed through years of combat readiness and despite not having needed them during his settling in the lands of Pandaria, they hadn't dulled so much that he was ill-prepared for such an attack.

Two bolts of lightning shocked the python into retreat and he watched as it realised that he and Misty were not prime meal material or worth the hassle. It slithered away into camouflage, pride and nose injured, where Lorik did internally curse their brilliantly coloured skin, allowing them the pleasure of blending and striking unwitting travellers. The draenei didn't even realise he had stood up in the cart to attack until Misty, now understandably spooked, decided to bolt and throwing him ungraciously down.

He hit the ground hard and cried out at the wagon went at full tilt out of his sights and across the bridge into the Valley.

Lorik was having a _really_ stressful day.

His ankle had twisted slightly upon impact which meant hobbling along was cumbersome and time consuming. He didn't know how much time had passed, but when he rounded over the bridge and crested the first hill (breathing heavily, slightly dizzy and with a stitch forming deep in his side), Lorik almost forgave the day he was having. Almost.

The Valley of the Four Winds stretched on for as far as his eyes would see, waxing and waning with mounds and hillsides and rocky spires and vitality. As much as the Jade Forest had first seduced him when he had arrived, the Valley had welcomed him with open arms, whispering sweet things to him and making him feel warm- a feeling which had not been lost in his time here. It was also another sign that home was near.

A drop of rain threatened him and he squinted to the now-open sky. It was a sheet of colourless grey, no longer hindered by viridian canopy, free to wash him away at a moment's notice and he knew it. With another grimace, he limped across the bamboo bridge and kept an eye out for Misty and the wagon. The wind picked up and by the time he reached Pang's Stead, he was chattering to his core, his clothes still damp from their brief bath.

A familiar wagon greeted him, void of any cargo or beast, but he had faith this is where she would go, she knew Pang and his kin and was grateful that she was smart enough to recognise how close she was to the farm.

A brief knock on the door and he was pulled into a warm home with several fussing over him, declaring him silly for walking like this and how-could-you-get-hurts being hurled his way inbetween the have-you-eatens and how-have-you-beens.

Lorik allowed himself to be fussed over, knowing that Nan Thunderfoot and her husband, Pang wouldn't rest until he was seen to.

Within the hour he had a bowl of broth, a generous cut of bread and a mug of hot tea (it had taken him a long time to get used to the variety of teas in Pandaria, favouring the cinnamon after long deliberation) and spare clothes while his own had been scrubbed and dried. The lunch he had been adamant to be skipped, was now being poured down him.

Nan and Pang sat across him, delivering the news that Misty was fine and in the stables out back, just a little frightened but the goods in the wagon hadn't faired so well. They declared the other barrel of rice half-spilled and one of the three bolts now unusable. Lorik didn't tell them that there should have been four bolts of cloth, and thanked them for keeping Misty. He didn't want to even ask about the saddle at this point. Home was on the horizon and he wanted to get there.

But the weather was having none of it.

Another thunderstorm clouded over and poured on for two hours. Nearly at his wits end with weariness and impatience, Lorik was this close to heading out in the weather regardless, thinking he could come back tomorrow or the day after for Misty. The weather however decided to give a short respite and Lorik near jumped at the opportunity to fix up his wagon and Misty in readiness. Bidding a kind and fond farewell to Pang and Nan, he made to leave the stead and managed to make it to the end of the courtyard before the back wheel gave way.

Lorik was having a ridiculously trying day.

A half hour later yet again, dressed in mud his clothes had only been freshly cleared of, Lorik and Pang had attached a new wheel from one of the homestead's spares (Lorik had insisted on paying for this, not wanting the couple to be out of a wagon until he could get back out here to compensate them properly for it by aiding on the farm) and was finally able to leave. His ankle was throbbing, and the majority of his purchases from yesterday were now spilled, lost or irreparable beyond use and so he was thoroughly disheartened while travelling the slow, winding paths of the Valley. With regret did he keep his interactions with familiar and not-so-familiar faces to a brief minimum, not wishing to be stopped at this point and just desperate to get home. He felt wholly rude doing so, but prayed that these genteel folk understood given how awful he looked- and felt- and they could forgive his impoliteness.

Misty was weary too, trudging more than ambling, her usual bounce and zest noticeably absent as she perhaps picked up on her master's mood. He felt guilty once again.

The guilt ate up at him as he drew closer to the heart of the valley, the traffic thickening, greetings coming more frequently and yet he still waved them off with a stiff air. Home was the only thing on his mind right now.

The weather gave way twice more, making for difficult navigating of slippy stones and waiting before crossing slicked bridges. Lorik had to get out of the wagon and physically steer Misty across it, him limping comically and her huffing in distaste. He ignored it, promising her carrots and apples when they were returned. All-in-all what should have been a seven hour journey (stopping for a long lunch at Pang's factored in initially) had turned into a near eleven hour journey where he had next to no wares to show for it, a miserable mushan, a patchwork wagon, a headache and a throbbing leg (several other war wounds were also flaring up in this infernal weather but he waved it off, years of putting up with it making it expected pain) and an altogether worn out draenei.

Lorik was having an all too long day.

The sun had set, the autumnal hours shortening the orb's visits and the clouds that had so tormented Lorik's journey had passed on, leaving a dark blanket of ink in its wake, pinpricked with a thousand starts and constellations. It was almost enough to life his mood, but not quite.

He entered Halfhill just as the market was clearing for the day and willed himself not to run home, so close was it. Instead he managed to convince Nam Ironpaw to sell him a sack of rice before she closed up for the night and she waved him off with a knowing smile and wish for a good night.

Lorik was fairly sure that that was what he wanted too.

Too weary to do anything else, he pulled Misty into the farm adjacent to Halfhill. All he wanted to do was run up the stairs and throw open the door and-

But he couldn't. And with great determination and delayed promise of comfort did he stable Misty, settling her into her home, telling her how well she did today and making sure she was fed. He rubbed hay up and down her legs, making doubly sure that she was warm, and clipped her winter blanket over her back. Content that she was content, Lorik then set about placing the wagon in its designated spot, tethering it and divesting it of its meagre load. Two bolts, wrapped tightly in paper and string had survived, as had his only-just-purchased sack of rice. It was a miserable lot and he felt the carryon of today nestle deep within him like a lead weight. The draenei decided that he would clean the wagon tomorrow of all the rice spilled and spoiled today. His headache was now nearing migraine status, he was so cold now that he couldn't even feel the cold and climbing the stairs to his door seemed like scaling a mountain with his injury.

And yet as he opened the door, covered in mud, soaked to the bone and carrying not even half of what he had intended to return home with, Lorik had never felt happier.

Laizhu, his beloved wife was at the stove, her small frame turning to him and her face lighting up instantly at his arrival. She dropped her wooden spoon into the pot and threw herself around him, mud be damned. He had enough time to set the load aside before wrapping himself around her as he became the receiver of kisses and affection. When she pulled back, she had mud dirtying her fur but she didn't care a hoot- her eyes were wide with love solely for him and do you know what?

Perhaps, he thought. Perhaps today wasn't such a bad day after all.

-Fin-


End file.
